


The End of All Things

by AliuIce0814



Category: National Treasure (2004)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Broken Families, Gen, Not a Happy Story, baby ben is the best, what do you do when you lose your role model?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grandpa is Ben's best friend. He's the smartest man in the world. He answers all of Ben's questions.</p><p>What if Ben loses all that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of All Things

**Author's Note:**

> Major character death.
> 
> Unbetaed.
> 
> For Sara, who can quote the whole movie with me; Cana, who understands the obsession--I mean, passion; and Grandpa Art, who was my best friend.

            When Ben climbs into the forbidden attic that stormy night in 1974, he doesn’t realize it’s his last night in Grandpa’s house. He doesn’t realize that the last question Grandpa will ever answer for him will be, “Grandpa, are we knights?” Dad’s mad at Grandpa, sure, but they’re always mad at each other. Why should this fight be any different? Ben says goodbye to Grandpa and then climbs in the car. Dad still makes him ride in the back like he’s a little kid. He kicks the back of Dad’s seat all the way home in protest.

            That night, Ben can’t sleep. He keeps his room dark and quiet until Dad stops moving around in the one adjacent to his. Then he grabs his flashlight from his bedside table and opens the thick book Grandpa gave him. The paper from Charles Carroll is the only clue to the treasure they have, but there are all sorts of interesting pages about treasure hunting: Ottendorf ciphers, Playfair ciphers, invisible ink…pages telling stories of Crusaders, the Knights Templar…pages describing what Thomas Gates thought the treasure might contain. Ben’s mouth slowly falls open as he reads. Relics from pharaoh’s tombs? Scrolls from libraries that fell to earthquakes and wars? Statues of kings and swords and shields and blocks of gold. It’s so huge that Ben can’t quite grasp it.

            The phone rings. In the other room, Dad groans. Ben scrambles to shove the flashlight and book beneath his bed. He pulls the covers over his head and tries to breathe evenly as Dad says, “Hello?” Then he says, so sharply that Ben shoots straight up in bed, “ _What_?”

            After that, Dad’s voice grows muffled. Ben wants to dig his stethoscope out of his closet and listen through the walls, but Dad would hear him moving around. Ben doesn’t want to be in any more trouble tonight. He twists his sheet in his hands. Why would anyone call at midnight?

            The floorboards outside Ben’s room creak. Ben dives beneath the covers again. By the time Dad comes in the room, he’s breathing evenly, even snoring softly for good measure. The bed beside him sinks. Ben holds himself still. Sometimes Dad figures out he’s faking sleep when he gets this close. He has to be very careful.

            Dad doesn’t shake him or scold him. Instead, one of his hands starts stroking Ben’s hair away from his face. Ben holds his breath without meaning to. He doesn’t understand. What’s Dad doing?

            “Ben,” Dad says softly. “C’mon. Wake up. I need to tell you something.”

            Ben guesses there’s no point in faking anymore. He rolls onto his back and opens his eyes. He can’t see much of Dad’s face in the dark, but his eyes seem overbright. Ben’s stomach lurches. Dad never cries. He didn’t even cry when Mom left, just yelled. “Dad?” he says.

            Dad runs his fingers through his hair one more time before he lets his hand drop. “Get up. Get dressed.”

            “Why? Dad, it’s a school night.”

            “I know. Grandpa’s in the hospital.”

            Ben’s entire body goes numb. “He’s not,” he stammers. “We were just at his house.”

            Dad shakes his head. “We’ve got to go. Get some shoes on.”

            “What happened?”

            “Just get ready to go.”

            “Dad?” Ben calls, but Dad’s already leaving the room. “Dad!”

            He’s never gotten dressed so quickly in his life. At the last second, he turns back and grabs the book Grandpa gave him. Dad doesn’t notice. He’s too focused on getting in the car and getting to the hospital.

            A nurse stops them just as they reach Grandpa’s floor of the hospital. “I’m sorry, but he can’t come up here,” she says, as if Ben’s not right there. “We don’t allow minors on this floor.”

            Ben’s face burns. He opens his mouth to argue, but Dad wraps an arm around him and does it for him. “He’s ten years old, not a baby. He’s not going to cause any trouble.”

            “It’s because of potential risk for infection…” The nurse’s voice trails off as she gets a good look at Dad’s face. Her shoulders slump. “Fine, but don’t tell anyone it was me who let you in.”

            Dad keeps his arm around Ben’s shoulder as they walk down the hall. Ben hates hospitals. This one is worse than most. It’s white and looks pristine, but it smells like a cross between cleaning fluid and urine. Somewhere down the hall, a frail voice calls, “Help me.”

            Dad knocks on the door to room 326. The doctor who opens it ushers Dad inside without sparing Ben a glance. The two adults start speaking in hushed voices. Ben ignores them in favor of the prone figure in the hospital bed. “Grandpa!”

            Grandpa’s eyes flicker open. He’s pale; his eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. He looks nothing like the man who knighted Ben just a few hours ago. He gives Ben a befuddled look. Ben hugs the treasure book to his chest. “Grandpa, it’s me.”

            Grandpa frowns. He studies Ben for a long moment before saying hesitantly, “Patrick?”

            Ben’s blood runs cold. “No, no, Patrick’s my dad. I’m Ben, Grandpa, remember? I’m Ben.” He holds up the book, hoping it’ll spark Grandpa’s memory. He’s rewarded with a blank look. Ben can’t breathe. This is wrong, some kind of nightmare. He’ll wake up soon. He has to. This can’t be real. This can’t be. “Grandpa!”

            “Ben.” Dad pulls Ben back by his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

           

“What’s wrong with him?”

           

“He had a stroke,” the doctor says in a gentle, even voice. Ben’s fingers tighten on the book. “How about you go to the nurses’ station? I think they have a few books on the subject aimed at children your age.”

            Ordinarily, Ben would protest. He’s long past books aimed at children his age. He’s been reading college-level novels since he was eight. Dad gives him a push, though. He stumbles out the door. Instead of going to the nurses’ station, he sits outside Grandpa’s room and opens the treasure book. He can barely read it through blurry eyes. When one of the pages gets wet, he scrubs angrily at the liquid.

            “Is he going to be okay?” Ben asks Dad when he comes out of the room. Dad shrugs, the best answer he can give. Ben squeezes his arms tight around the book to keep himself from flinging it down the hall.

            The next two weeks pass in a haze. Mom and Dad must come to some kind of temporary agreement, because she picks Ben up after school every day. He sits in one of the winged armchairs in her office at the university, reading book after book on strokes. The thousand-page Mayo Clinic book seems fairly optimistic about Grandpa’s chances of recovery. Other books aren’t so certain. Ben reads until his eyes blur, until his head aches, until there’s no room for any more medical terminology. Then he pulls out his treasure book and starts on it. If Mom knows what it is, she doesn’t mention it. She just kisses the top of Ben’s head, leaving a bowl of lemon candy by his chair for him to eat.

            On Friday afternoon at the end of the second week, Dad’s almost smiling when he picks Ben up from Mom’s office. “Well, son, Dad was moved to a nursing home today,” he tells Ben.

            Ben idly kicks the back of Dad’s seat. “Is that good?”

            “Sure. It means he’s out of the hospital, doesn’t it?”

            “Does he remember my name yet?”

            Dad’s quiet for a moment. Ben stares at the Capitol building as they drive past it. “That might take a little more time.”

            At three AM on Sunday morning, the phone rings. Ben shoves his flashlight and book beneath the bed. He pulls the covers over his head just as Dad comes into the room. His heart pounds in his chest. “Ben,” Dad says in a strangled voice. Ben tightens the covers around himself. He doesn’t want to hear whatever Dad has to say. “Ben, Grandpa died.”

            Thirty years down the road, Ben won’t remember himself screaming, but he does. He screams right through Dad’s chest while Dad holds him. He’s so angry he can’t see straight. Grandpa’s not supposed to die. They’re supposed to find the treasure together. Grandpa’s his best friend. He’s the best and smartest person in the whole world. He can’t be dead. He can’t be.

            But he is. The sun’s shining that Friday as Ben sits in the funeral home, resolutely ignoring whatever the pastor is saying to the crowd. Mom and Dad sit beside him like bookends, each holding one of his hands. He keeps his hands limp. He’s not a baby, and he doesn’t want them around, anyway. He wants Grandpa.

            _Are we knights?_ he asked him. Grandpa said yes. After the funeral, when Dad’s in Grandpa’s kitchen, clearing out the fridge, Ben climbs to the forbidden attic. He fills three backpacks with everything he can carry: books, films, magazines, ancient scrolls, yellowing documents, photo albums from the 1920s. “What’s in there?” Dad asks when he sees all the bags. Ben shrugs. Dad shrugs back.

            At the last second, when Dad’s about to give Grandpa’s key to the realtor, Ben runs back inside to the full trash can. He rescues the photo that once held pride of place on Grandpa’s mantelpiece: Dad, Ben, and Grandpa, smiling like the happy family they should have been. He tucks it in the front of his treasure book so he can take Grandpa along with him.

           He'll find that treasure. He knows he will. He'll make Grandpa proud.

**Author's Note:**

> My grandpa died of a stroke in 2003. He was my best friend before that, and then he forgot my name. I've always loved the opening scene of National Treasure. Grandpa/grandkid relationships can be so special, with or without a treasure involved.


End file.
